


No Dinner, No Show

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [9]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Fabian wants is a sense of normality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Dinner, No Show

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Moodymarshmallow

ost people would have been pleased with the feast that Orana had prepared. Fabian was—in fact, he was considering giving her a raise, or at least a bonus. He had no idea where she’d found pears at this time of year, and the pheasant was perfect, glistening brown and steaming, surrounded by roasted onions and potatoes. He’d seen the chocolate rum cake cooling in the kitchen, and had sampled the Antivan red to make sure it would go well with the bird. It should have been perfect—it _would_  have been perfect, were it not for the dinner guest. 

Perched in the chair across from Fabian, one knee cradled to his chest, was Theron Mahariel, dusty and sunburned from whatever long trip he had just returned from. He had said nothing since Fabian led him to the table, just stared, his jaw set. 

“Look.” Fabian cleared his throat, waiting until Theron’s eyes darted up to meet his. “I know this is all a little much…”

“It is,” Theron agreed, and Fabian winced. A dull anger was growing deep in his chest. He had gone through a lot of trouble to have this ready when Theron returned, pulling strings and asking for favors, bribing guards to let him know when a redheaded elf was back in the city, and the lack of gratitude grated on already frayed nerves. 

“I just thought it would be nice if we had a nice, normal dinner at home—no Hanged Man, no running into my blighted brother, just you and I.” 

Theron dropped his gaze. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…I’m not even going to be in the city for a week.”

Fabian’s face fell. The last of Theron’s mystery excursions had lasted nearly a month, and he’d never returned for such a short period of time. Shoving the chair backwards, Fabian stood, and threw a wadded up napkin onto his empty plate. 

“You knew—” 

“I don’t bloody care what you think I knew,” Fabian said. He made an effort to keep his voice level, speaking through gritted teeth. He barely heard the chair on the wood floor as Theron got up, but he turned when he felt his small hand on his shoulder. 

“We’re not normal, you and I,” Theron said evenly. “I never wanted to pretend that we are.” 

“It’s just dinner,” Fabian said softly, the fire gone out of his anger when Theron brushed his hand over his chin. With Anders at least it had been refusal—he’d led him on, of course, but there’d always been a no. Fabian bent at the waist when he saw Theron lifting on his toes, catching his lips in a kiss that started soft and ended desperate, Fabian instinctively grabbing Theron around the waist, lifting the light elf right off of his feet. Half the time he’d complain, wriggling right out of Fabian’s arms with a look of playful contempt. But as soon as his feet were off the floor he was hooking them behind Fabian’s back, resting his thighs on his hips, arms tight around his neck. It was so much easier to hold him up than it should have been. “I don’t care about dinner—I just want you here.” 

“I can’t promise you things like that, ma vhenan.” Theron’s voice was whisper-soft, the melodic lilt of the Dalish endearment catching Fabian’s words on his tongue, a sandy lump growing in the back of his throat. “I can’t promise you whatever it is you want with this.”

“You can’t keep leaving,” Fabian said, clearing his throat to try and hide how choked up his voice was. “I  _need_  you.” 

“Oh, Fabian.” Theron’s brow knitted, and he rested his forehead against Fabian’s temple. “What happens when I’m gone, love? What happens when I’m really gone?”

“You’re all I have,” Fabian whispered, and this time his voice broke. He felt Theron’s lips gentle on his cheek, his slim arm curling around his head and pulling him close. 

After nearly ten minutes and a few long, shakey sighs. Theron spoke again. “I’ll stay.” Fabian pulled away, searching Theron’s eyes. “I will. Fuck the blighted Wardens. I’ve given them so much. “ 

“Tell me you mean it.”

“I’m getting too old for their nonsense.” Theron chewed on his lower lip, his brows still furrowed. “I killed an archdemon—they can handle a few hurlocks without me.” Fabian laughed, burying his face in Theron’s neck, kissing him, holding him, leaning back against the wall of the kitchen, just clutching him close. Hearing the disturbance, Bodahn stepped in, then backed out quickly, shaking his head with a smile on his face. 

“Do you still want to eat?” Theron asked after a long, sweet moment, stroking Fabian’s hair out of his eyes. 

“It’d be a shame to let it go to waste,” Fabian said, giddy, still unwilling to put Theron down. 

“It would,” Theron agreed, but he didn’t let go either, and they stood there like fools while the pheasant cooled and the wine got warm, not caring in the least. 


End file.
